Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

For the Banner of the South. At Midnight. ]s< neath the solemn midnight sky, I bow me and adore; 1 watch the drifting clouds float by, The pale, «old mo >n enthroned on high, And thank Thee, Lord, that such aa I May live to praise Thee more. A tender wind, that breathes oi showers, Uplifts my loosened hair ; Sweet messenger from Southern bowers, Half drunken with the breath of flowers, It gently wakes its lulled powers, To cool the sultry air. The beautiful, bright lamps of Heaven, Like guardian spirits seem; For every space their lights have riven, Perhaps, some erring soul is shriven, Tom hed by their radiance, then forgiven, White men, unconscious, dream. The tired, pulseless city sleeps— Forgotten all Its strife; Save where some lonely watcher weeps, And wearily her vigil keeps, Till Death, with stealthy footstep, creeps, To free a parting life. Or where, in secret haunts of crime, The revellers seek to drown, With burst of song and maudlin rhyme, The voice of conscience, mocking time, And hailing pleasure in its prime, Keep recollection down. Serene and calm, the peace I feel, As the winged hours fleet by; Homo distant bell sends forth a peal, And as the soft notes nearer steal, With bowed and reverent head, I kneel, Beneath the midnight sky. _ Fidelia. [For the Banner of the South.] THE HERMIT OF THE ELM, A LEGEND OF PROVENCE. In the days of the good old King Rone, whose memory is still cherished in the hearts of the inhabitants of Provence, there lived, in the little town of A , a young fisherman, by the name of Jerome. Tall, handsome, and well built, Jurome was the most expert of all the young men of the coast, in the manage mml of a boat, or in the casting of the net and of the seine, or in the use of the trident and the harpoon; and many of the older fishermen envied, but admired, his wonderful skill and boldness. In the numerous games and athletic exercises, in the enjoyment of which the peasantry of Provence have always been accustomed to devote their holidays and leisure mo ments, none had ever excelled him; and, so loved and respected was he for his many virtues and good qualities, that the victory was ever conceded to him in good grace, and as a matter of course; and the most ambitious were satisfied to occupy the second place ; and, so modestly did he b ar his laurels, that he had never excited the jealousy of any, while the old men of the village were proud of his prowess. As graceful in the dances as he was strong and expert in the games, and on the sea, he had caused the heart of more than one of the pretty girls of the neigh borhood to beat more quickly than was its wont, at a word, or a look, fancied to be more tender than usual. But, Jerome’s heart was captivated ; he loved Marianne, the beautiful daughter of his father’s old friend, Anselme ! Marianne, whose beautiful eyes shone so brightly under the pretty little Provencal hat, and whose slender waist so charmingly fitted the elegaut black velvet corset. Marianne seemed to have been made for Jerome, and Jerome for Marianne. What more natural than that they should love each other ?—so much so, that not even a suspicion of jealousy was awakened in th( bosom of the other girls ; they took it, as a matter of course ; besides it had ever been an understood thing between the two old friends that thefr children were intended for each other; and the time was fast approaching when their happiness was to receive its crown of joy ! But, alas ! the course of true love has never run smooth to the end. It is like that of the gentle stream first glid in' through fields of many flowers, which lavish upon its unruffled bosom their nuaiy brilliant colors and sweet perfumes, un il a few ripples upon the smooth sur face,* warn of approaching danger ; rocks, t>! ‘ impediments, are ahead! over which thi hitherto quiet waters are irresistibly -mpeil and ! Now, they are dark, angry, loamy, and enshrouded in mist, and seem as hough they never could again reflect l lk bright colors of happier days. But hope on ! hope ever ! other flowery banks are below; perhaps, brighter than ever! Like the threatening ripples, there aanie rumors of war floating over the hitherto unruffled happiness of the two ; Marianne trembled; she scarce knew why ! Then came news of a more con firmed character, and her poor heart was chilled, and almost paralyzed. War is declared, and sailors are wanted ! Je rome, the best sailor in the town, cannot Orders have come; he must join a ship at Toulon ! Marianne’s heart is broken; tears fill the eyes of all the family. So neur happiness ; now so far from it—so unhappy ’ How swiftly flew the few intervening hours! Jerome grieved; but his griet' was tempered by a sense of duty to" his country, and a hope of coming glory to lay at Marianne’s feet. The hour has come ; the last minute counted ; he must go ! The last farewell is taken on the quay! “Farewell! father,friends, Mari anne ; we shall soon meet again, never more to part!” The anchor is weighed ; the sails are given to the breeze ; Jerome waives a last adieu; and the fainting Marianne is carried back to her father’s home ! Jerome stood upon the deck of the ship, as she sped towards the open sea, ami he watched the loved group until he could see them no more ; then the houses, the steeple of the Church, and, lastly, the blue hills of his home, growing fainter and more taint, until they melted away, be ybiid the horizon. He brushed away a tear, and turned, manfully, to the stern duties of his station. It is needless to follow him in all his adventures upon the sea, or to speak of the numerous actions in which his ship had taken part during two eventful years; suffice it to say, that here, as in the village, he had earned the love and esteem of all aboard, officers and men. At last, in a horrible storm, the brave ship was cast away upon the rocky coast of Barbary, and broken to pieces by the violence of the tempest. All were lost, except a few of the men, and, among these, was Jerome, who owtd his life to his superior skill and strength as a swimmer. But, he had no sooner reached the shore, than he and his companions were seized upon by a crowd of Arabs, who carried him to Tunis, where, as soon as they were sufficiently restored to make a suitable appearance, they were sold as slaves. Jerome was valued at a very high price, and a wealthy old Mussulman bought him. This old sinner was the owner of a 'beautiful villa, surrounded with extensive gardens, on the eastern slope of the charming Bay of Tunis, and within a short distance of the city. Thither was Jerome taken, and his work allotted to him in the cultivation of the gardens. He was placed, with other slaves, under the supervision of a Spanish renegade, whose treatment of those under him was cruel in the extreme. But Jerome accepted his misfortunes with all the resignation of a good Christian, and thought that as God, in His exceeding goodness, had almost miraculously preserved his life in the in numerable battles that had been fought, and, lastly, in the terrible storm which had destroyed the ship, and so many of his companions, more worthy than he, that he was now justly suffering to atone for his many sins, and to prevent him from being over presumptuous; there fore, he had made up his mind to bear with fortitude all the evils imposed upon him, and, as a slave, to do his work faith fully, and to the best of his abilities. The Spanish renegade, like all rene gades, was, apparently, extremely zealous in his new religion, and, consequently, doubly anxious to bring others to the faith which he had adopted, through policy, more than through conviction ; for, it is impossible for one, who has ever been a Christian, to adopt any other faith. But it is probable he had never been a good Christian, for how could he have re nounced his God to please a worldly master ? Be this as it may, he deter mined, as soon as he found that Jerome was a Christian, to bring him, by fair means, or by foul, to do as he had done. It would be a triumph for himself, and would be an additional cause of favor from the bigoted old Mussulman, his master. He, therefore, soon set to work, and boldly and bluntly told Jerome he must renounce his God, to adore the God of Mahomet; and Jerome, as boldly and as bluntly, replied he would do nothing yf the kind ! Therefore, war was imme diately declared, but a war in which all the attacks and blows come from one side. In ordinary cases, when one party acts only upon the defensive, and never returns blows, a home thrust will one day be given which will settle the question against the defensive party, however skillful or strong. A rock, which is con stantly beaten and battered by the waters of the sea, be it ever so firm and massive, is gradually, imperceptibly undermined, and will, finally, topple over, and be en gulphed ! But this case was different. Jerome had help from above—by far, the best of all helps ! The wretched renegade heaped blows and hard labor upon the unfortunate Jerome, and each day tried the effect of soft words of persuasion and temptation, or threats, and blows, and privations; but all in vain ! Each day found Jerome as firm as Heaven itself against the wiles of Satan! No! lie would never, never, yield his faith ! The renegade was en raged beyond measure, at such unheard of resistance, or stubbornness, as he called it, and he repaired to the old bigot to consult with him as to what should be MBSBffi Qg fll MUffwr. done, It was decided that the latter should condescend to speak to the “dog of a Christian,” and try the effect of his dazzling and sharp eloquence, to which nothing had ever resisted, as it was usual ly enforced by the keen edge of the sword. But he met with no better success. Offers of freedom, of promotion, of gold, by way of temptation !—threats of perse cution, even of death, found the bold and faithful fisherman invulnerable; not the slightest impression was made upon him. “Dog of a Christian !” then exclaimed the old Turk, gnashing his few black teeth in his rage, “thou shalt be treated like a cursed dog, that thou art! See if thy false God will save thee from the fate which is reserved to thee ! Seest thou yon mass of rocks, at the foot of that steep hill ? Be it thy task to build from tliem, on the top of the hill, a wall similar to this one thou seest here. When the faithful have been called to prayers, on the setting of the sun beyond the hill, thou diest the cruel death of the stake, * if thy task be not accomplished.” “Thou may’stas well kill me at once !” boldly replied Jerome ; “for, no living man can ITTt those immense rocks to the top of yon hill!” “Call thy God to thy help, then !” snecringly replied the old heathen ; then turning to the renegade : “Ali, on thy head, see that my order be obeyed!” and he moved away with a stately step. A fierce grin of pleasure, like the laugh of the contemptible hyena, when about to make his vile repast on the leav ings of the lion, lit the face of the rene gade, as he bowed low his head, in token of his submission to his master, and showed that he would but too willingly obey the cruel order, and he went to pre pare the instrument of torture and death, after a look of triumph at his victim. Jerome, calm, but sad, sank upon the ground at the foot of a large fig tree ; for he thought it was useless, even to try to perform the task so cruelly imposed upon him. Some of the rocks were so large, that ten men could not have removed them to the place required. He, there fore, thought he would prepare himself the best way he could, to meet the death that would so soon be inflicted upon him. He prayed to God, to the Holy Virgin, and to his good old patron, St. Jerome, and, having accomplished his duties, he sat down, and commenced to think of all the dear ones at home—of his good old gray-haired father ; of Marianne, his own beautiful Marianne, whose sweet image was ever before his eyes. Overcome, by fatigue of body and mind, the familiar scenes and faces of home gradually be came more and more indistinct, and sleep, unsought, imperceptibly crept over him. Then Marianne’s image returned more vividly than ever ; but soon it was no more Marianne ; it was more like that beautiful picture of the Virgin he had always seen in the old Church at home, and ic seemed to have life ; it smiled upon him, and, at last, spoke in tones so clear and so sweet : “Have Faith.” He awoke, and looked up for the beautiful Mother, and saw nothing ; but the sweet voice still raDg iu his ear : “Have Faith.” He sank on his knees, and thanked God and the Holy Mother that he now “had Faith.” He felt that they would liefy him. The time allotted for his task was fast approaching; he went to the rocks, and found an old man, with a long, black beard, seated upon one of them. He greeted the old man respectfully, and then went to a heavy rock to lift it; but, alas! with his whole might, he could not even move it. “Son !” said the old man, “I will help thee !” They worked together, and Jerome found that the very heaviest scarcely had the weight of a feather! Thus they worked together, and, as they lifted the last rock, the sun went down behind the hill, and the gong called the heathens to their sinful prayers : “I may not tarry longer,” said the old man ; “Farewell 1 but ‘ have Faith!’ ” Jerome did not suffer the supplice of the stake that night; but his persecutions did not cease; the renegade, and the old Turk, although staggered by Jerome’s miraculous feat, soon recovered their en deavors to break down his stubborn faith by sheer exhaustion of mind and body. Jerome found he must soon sink under such ill treatment, and he determined to risk his life in one bold attempt to flee from his persecutors, and regain his liberty. He was well aware that death, a cruel death, would be the penalty of failure; “but then,” thought he, “if I remain, I must soon die, and there is a chance, if God helps me, to succeed.” Among the other slaves was a renegade upon whom Jerome’s wonderful wall had made a deep impression; and the con viction had entered his mind, and was now fervently' rooted, that the huge stones, which were there to speak for themselves, could have been raised only' by a special interposition from above ; for, it was well known he had received no aid from any one on the Earth. And, gradu ally, the old Faith, which his apostacy could not have entirely eradicated, com menced again to fill the hollowness of his heart, into which Mahometanism had never gained admittance. With the Faith, came repentance, and the desire to atone, and, also, the yearning to see, once more, his old country, and to die among God’s faith!ul people. He soon found means to communicate all this to Jerome, and, to gether, they matured some plan for escape. Not being suspected, he was not watched, and was free to go and come as he pleased, provided his work was accom plished. It was not many days before he suc ceeded in procuring a small boat, which he concealed in a cove, not far from the gardens of the Mussulman, and, having placed in it provisions for several days, and all else that would be essential, the time was fixed for that night, one hour after the setting of the moon. That evening, Jerome prayed longer than usual, for he recommended his soul to God’s mercy, and he prayed for the intercession of the Blessed Virgin, and of his good old St. Jerome, who had already been so kind to him, Then, when he thought all asleep around him, and when the young crescent moon had sank behind the hills, he crept out so slowly, and so quietly, that scarcely would he have awakened a mouse, had one been near. Cautiously, he crept along the ground and gardens, for guards were here, there, and everywhere; but, thanks to his good old Saint, none met him or saw him. He reached the wall, and, watching for his opportunity, crawled over like a nimble snake, so noiselessly, that a guard close by neither saw nor heard the least thing. The cove is at last reached ; and hefouud his future companion waiting for him, and ready to start. They exchanged a few words in whispers; the night was dark, but it was necessary that the boat should glide close to shore in the shadow of the banks; for, farther on the water, the numerous guard boats and ships must see them. It is true that, near the shore they incurred the risk of being discovered by sentinels on the coast; but, better that, than the boats, for the sentinels could not pursue them. They passed within a short distance of several vessels, and could distinctly hear the men on board laughing and talking. Suddenly, the renegade touched Jerome on the arm, and pointed ahead of them; a barge, pro pelled by many oars, could be heard coming towards them, and almost as near to the shore as they were ! With throbbing hearts, and a desperate, but noiseless, shove, the two fugitives ran their small craft ashore, and laid themselves flat in the bottom! Jerome said an “Ave,”and called on St. Jerome. The enemy came within a few yards of them; they heard the one iu command order the carmen to stop, and enquire whether it was not a boat he saw by the shore ? One of the men replied that if was a boat which belonged to a fisherman, who always kept it there. They resumed their rowing, and, in a minute, were out of sight. Jerome did not forget an act of thanks; the other man, perhaps, thanked his star! At last, they reached the farthest headland; it was soon passed, and the open sea lay before them! but caution was still necessary; vessels might be near them ! They continued for a little while in silence; then, a light land breeze springing up, they put up their small sail, and steered for the open sea, and the coast of the loved Provence ! When the day dawned, not a vestige of African land could be seen, and they were alone on the broad bosom of the Mediterranean! What were the emo tions which stirred the hearts of the two men, can better be imagined than de scribed. Those contending within the bosom of the renegade, were uncertain, conflicting between fear and hope; Je rome’s, were thankfulness, joy, and hope! How vividly the scenes of home, and the smiling faces of the dear ones, came flitting before his vision ; all there, exactly as he had left them ; indeed, it sometimes seemed to him but yesterday he had parted from sweet Marianne; it required an effort of thought to realize it was over two years since he had seen them all; two or three more days, and he would pr ess them again to his lunging heart. But, two years !—how many events may have happened in two years! His father was aged ! Marianne—not impossible ! away with such foolish thoughts! All that day the light .Southern breeze continued to favor them; the sea was smooth, the skies were clear and beautiful, and the light little craft flew swiftly over the water, scarcely seeming to graze the surface. Two such days as this, and they would reach their destination 1 But, alas! this was not to be ! —that evening the sun went down in a most gorgeous and magnificent style, midst clouds of gold and silver, of crimson and ourple, like a fat and rosy monarch, sink ing to rest on a bed of down, and velvet, and satin, surrounded with curtains of cloth of gold and purple. But, below all this brilliant array, close down to the lorizon, there lay a dark and frowning bank of clouds. Jerome, accustomed to the sea, was not slow in reading what it meant; he pointed it to his companion, and observed: “That means mischief!” What are we to do ?” inquired the other. 1 “Trust to God!” was the answer. “Aye . aye !” said the renegade, “but, with an egg shell such as this, it will hardly save us.” Jerome thought, too, that there was much danger ; but his faith in the *ood Mother, and in the good old Saint with the long beard, was unbounded, and he prayed to them not to abandon him now, after having so far helped him. Well, the stars came out, but dimly and gradually disappeared behind the advancing cloud; the breeze, which had died away with the setting sun, sprang up again, but from a different quarter; it was no longer favorable to them! They tried to beat first to the right, and then to the left of the wind; but, it was in creasing in force, and the sea w T as swell ing. The sails were too much for the little craft; a reef must be taken; but the wind blew stronger, and the sea rose higher. “We must take them in, entirely,” said Jerome, “and try to keep the boat from the trough of the sea with our oars.” The sails were soon taken in, but the wind was now very violent, and the waves fearfully high and frothy, the crest of each blown into sheets of spray as it rose to its apex. “This is awful!” “Yes,” observed the renegade; “very little chance for us! She can’t stand this much longer.” “Not much, ” answered Jerome, “unless we get help from above.” A squall, heavier than any yet, howled over their heads, and shrieked as it passed; a sea, higher than any yet, was hurled towards them furiously, rolling before it a mountain of foam. The rene gade, appalled, let go his oar to cling to the side of the boat! The next second, the huge mass had swept over boat and all, and passed along, roaring as it went! "W hen Jerome realized his situation, he found himself alone in the trough of the sea, with the boat not far from him, but bottom upwards. With a desperate effort, he reached it, and clung to it with a death grip ! He looked around for his companion, but be was nowhere to be seen ! Death was now imminent!—the next wave must sweep him away; thought, so immensely active at such extreme moments, flew to God, to Marianne' to his old father ! But the next wave came and passed furiously over, then another, and another, and Jerome still held on to the boat. “Oh! Holy Virgin ! oh ! Good Patron Saint!”—if ever man fervently prayed to you, Jerome now did ! He raised his hands to Heaven, and offered lip a vow, that, if permitted to be saved, and to reach Provence, he would devote one entire year to prayer and holiness as an Hermit, near bis home, unknown to his father, to Marianne, or to any of his friends. Scarcely had he pronounced the vow, ere the wind seemed to subside; the waves, less angry than before, passed softly under the boat, without breaking over it; the rain commenced tailing in torrents, and seemed, as it fell, to beat down the sea, and to subdue the winds, and, before many minutes had elapsed, the air was calm, the sea with only a pleasant swell, and the clouds overhead commenced to break with the dawning of day. As the sun rose, all around was calm, serene, pleasant and clear, and, oh! joy! a ship was seen at a little distance, and coming towards him; and it bore his own native flag, the flag of France! They see him ; they lower a boat, and, ere many minutes, he walks once more the deck of a French ship. The vessel was bound for Toulon, where it soon arrived. Jerome did not tarry in that city his long delayed happiness was, at last, about to be realized ; a few more hours, and he will press to his longing heart his old father, and his own darling Marianne. What joy to them, too, to see him after such a long absence; for, he knows how much they love him. His stride is rapid, and he sings and laughs as he goes along; he has reached the high hill that crowns the village, and he stops to enjoy his own happiness. Yonder is his own dear na tive cottage, with the large chestnut tree close by; yonder is the roof that shelters sweet Marianne, and the little vineyard in the rear of it; everything as it was two years ago. Here is the slender steeple of the Church, which has that beautiful pic ture of the Holy Virgin ! “Holy Virgin! good God! my vow! I 5